Night at the museum

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We’ve taken out all our non-combat artillery and exposed it to the world hanging on the walls. Iberian strength, such as ham

The last time I was at the Prado Museum, we hired a guide. And it was a success: what at first seemed like an ordinary visit to us, became a ‘chemsex’. The guide, as euphoric as if she had been given a thousand sniffing the lead white of the paintings, turned it into an oil orgy. What a frenzy, what a hurry, what a heat; what fervor for Bosch, what a breath for Velázquez, what ecstasy at the sight of a Goya. It can be seen that the Prado is the satisfyer of art historians.

I don’t know if the same thing happened to Boris Johnson for the NATO summit dinner at the museum’s cloister, but it seemed like this: Even if you’re British, you can get excited by more than just English discipline; even if you are a vinegar with hair problems, you can have culture in baskets. And Johnson has it, which is why he studied Classics at Oxford and can recite the beginning of the “Iliad” in Greek. And he’s also a smart guy: he knows that his photos blinded by the paintings have done a lot for his image. As much as the Prado has done for us: we’ve knocked out all our non-war guns and we’ve shown it to the world hanging on the walls. Iberian strength, like ham.

Well, there are still people who complain. Where do you want us to take the bosses? To Telepizza? Of course I would like to celebrate my birthday in the Prado, but what can’t be can’t be and besides it’s impossible. Another thing is that the top has served for a little more than for Jill Biden to buy some espadrilles, for her saint to overpower Begoña Gómez or for the leaders to go purple with the menu of José Andrés, the parsley of all sauces . But that’s different López.

Source: La Verdad

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